Dangerous
by RandomDarknessPsycho
Summary: Harlequin is the perfect assassin: Ruthless, a natural-born killer, and a jack of all killing trades. Also, she's thirteen and the daughter of the most dangerous man in Britain. But when news of her father's death, along with the death of a certain consulting detective, reaches her, she wants to finish what he started. By killing John Watson.
1. Chapter 1

Her phone rang just as she set her bowl of cereal down on the table. "Who the hell…" she muttered, taking the device out of her jeans pocket. "Hello? Do you know it's bloody six in the mor-"

"Quin?" It was Sebastian Moran, predictably. Her father's faithful little sniper, always ready to do the dirty work.

"Yes?" she snapped, picking up a spoonful of cereal. The spoon had just pass through her lips when he said, "He's dead."

"Who? Sherlock?"

"Yes, but…"

"So my father succeeded. Congratulate him for me, will you?" The girl swallowed, ate another spoonful. Silence on the other end of the line. "Seb?"

"Quin… Jim's dead too."

The spoon fell from her hand, hitting the table with a clatter. The flat suddenly was deathly quiet, and very, _very_ cold.

"If you're fucking kidding me, I swear to God…" she threatened, but received no reply.

"Look," Sebastian said, finally. "I'll meet you at a café I frequent. Text you the address. Eight sharp, I'll see you there."

The sniper hung up, and Harlequin put the phone back into her pocket. It felt strange. It was like a part of her had been cut out, somewhere in her stomach, and her thoughts were frozen in her mind. Slowly, she stood, leaving her breakfast unfinished, and walked into her bedroom to prepare to meet Sebastian.

Weak sunlight filtered in through the window, and she went over to the toy chest at the foot of her bed, opening it. Inside was an array of "toys": Guns, throwing knives, a sniper rifle Sebastian had given her for her tenth birthday, her dog tags, even a whip, courtesy of a certain Dominatrix. She selected a gun, two knives, and slipped on her dog tags, tucking them up the sleeves of her hoodie, and the gun into her pocket. Emotions. How she _hated_ them. Usually, she'd feel whole after wielding her weapons, but now she felt… wrong. She hadn't even felt like this when her mother died. Then, of course, she was the one who put the bullet in the woman's brain.

~Ten minutes later~

The café she'd agreed to meet Sebastian at was small, cozy, and apparently served the best food in town. Harlequin couldn't have cared less, going inside and being assaulted by the aroma of food. It made her want to throw up. "Quin!" someone called, she looked around, saw the sniper by the window and joined him.

"How did he die?" The words tasted sour in her mouth.

It had to be a sick joke.

The man bit his lip, and she saw how tired he looked, as though he'd aged ten years. His eyes didn't meet hers. "The whole _I'm-going-to-make-Sherlock-kill-himself_ plan had a flaw. As long as Jim was alive, the plan wouldn't succeed. So…" He used his fingers to form a gun, putting them to his lips.

She almost laughed. _Almost_. "Fuck off, Seb. He's alive."

"No, he's not."

"HE IS!" she screamed, and everyone turned to stare at her. She returned their gazes until they turned away, before glaring at the sniper. He shook his head, sadly.

"Jim Moriarty's dead. I saw it with my own fucking eyes."

Silence fell, abruptly, leaving them sitting there, staring at each other. Then, she spoke: "You're such a _liar_. He's not dead, and I'm going to finish whatever the fuck he started."


	2. Chapter 2

~Two weeks later~

Harlequin was surprised it had taken her this long to assemble a plan to finish what her father had started. She already knew _who_ to target, it was easy enough. The detective inspector, the housekeeper, the woman whom her father "dated", the one who worked in the morgue, all were not important. Only the army doctor was.

She'd followed him, unnoticed. She'd even tailed him all the way to the grave of the consulting detective. And now, she knew his schedule by heart. The taxi slowed, stopped at the end of Baker Street, she paid the driver, and hopped out.

Just a few doors down, in the flat, John Watson would be eating breakfast.

_Breakfast._ The word itself made her stomach rumble, loudly. She hadn't eaten properly ever since her meeting with Sebastian. A bite of sandwich here, a sip of soup there. She'd been drinking though. Jim always had a no-alcohol rule, but it had hurt so badly that it _had_ to be an exception. Petals of pain blossomed in her head as she staggered towards the flat.

Okay, maybe raiding Sebastian's secret stash of liquor in the kitchen was a bad idea.

Harlequin barely made it to the door of 221B before her knees gave way and she collapsed on the steps.

_Fuck. Get up, Quin, you can't show weakness _now_. Not when you have things to do. _

Getting on her hands and knees, she pushed herself up, and turned the doorknob. It was open. She focused on the task ahead, the task of climbing the stairs that now lay before her. _Don't throw up. Don't fucking throw up._ Stepping into the flat, she closed the door as quietly as she could, walked towards the stairs and placed a hand on the wall. No wonder her father had a no-alcohol rule. Tasted good, in a bitter sort of way, but the aftermath was pure _hell_.

Careful not to drag her feet, Harlequin ascended the stairs to the second floor, and paused at the doorway. Taking a deep breath, she calmly walked in. Or tried to. More like she fell through the doorway and landed sprawled on the floor. There was a man sitting at a desk in front of her, by the window, typing on his laptop. He hadn't appeared to notice her. _Gun… Got to use a gun, right? Won't die if I don't… _

Scrambling to her feet, she swayed on the spot for a moment. That was when John Watson noticed her, stood and stared. "Do you have a case to be solved? I'm afraid you'll-"

His eyes widened a little more when she lunged at him, but the world suddenly tilted as she did, and Harlequin missed him completely, crashing into the desk. The air went out of her lungs, she took a few steps back. Her head was spinning. Spinning, spinning, like a top. Thoughts, emotions rushed to her head, and the girl let their chaotic melody fill her ears.

_Have to kill him, make Jim proud, make Seb proud, send him to hell, why to hell, why not to heaven, wait, why would I want to, I want to watch him suffer, make his death painfully slow, where is my gun, shit, I feel funny, damn it, Seb, knew it was a bad call to drink, need my wits and now I'm a teen drunk, real nice, Quin, real nice. _

"Hey, easy now," the doctor was saying, soothingly, hands out, treating her like a spooked horse.

"Go to hell!" she screamed, trying to shake her sleeve so that the knife hidden up it would land neatly in her palm. The knife slid out messily, she caught it as it fell, fumbled, then dropped it. Cold anger somehow jumped out of the tangled ball her emotions were, and she managed to fix John with a steely-eyed stare.

Bending down, Harlequin made to pick up the knife, but as soon as her fingers sought cold metal, her knees buckled, causing her to get down on all fours. Her stomach heaved, she retched, but didn't vomit, and that made her feel even worst. With a final glare up at her target, a blurry figure in a jumper, towering over her, saying words that didn't make sense, she let herself finally collapse, sinking into a black abyss of disappointment and utter outrage.

~ An unidentified amount of time later~

She woke up in bed. Her bed back in her flat. How did she get there was a mystery to her. Harlequin sat up, with a sigh, and clamped her hands over her mouth as she gave a sudden scream.

Standing by the door was Jim Moriarty. Arms folded, smiling that damnable smile of his, he watched her stare at him. "Morning, Quin. Did you miss me?" he asked.

"You're dead. Seb said you shot yourself in the head," she said, going pale. "You're fucking dead!"

"As you can clearly see, I'm not."

He looked as he always did, with his immaculately kept Westwood. Only thing was that there was something wrong. No, nothing wrong with _him_, but she had that gut feeling that something wasn't right. "Okay, I want to know how I got from 221B all the way back here," she demanded.

His eyes flickered, becoming obsidian for a brief moment. Another, and it was back to normal. And _that_ was when Harlequin knew. She stood, and pulled out her gun. "Okay, Jim, I _really _don't want to do this, but I _will_ if you make me." She couldn't really. She couldn't pull the trigger on her own goddamn _father_, even if she was a trained assassin. It was different than killing her mother. For starters, she never even _loved _her.

"So overeager to kill, that's solid proof you're my daughter," he commented, looking at her, with a smile. The moment the words were out, his face darkened, his eyes went obsidian. "Now," he continued, voice becoming a growl. "_Get Johnny boy_."

Harlequin woke. For real, this time, since she was a strange sofa, in a strange flat, covered by a blanket that obviously wasn't hers. Memories rushed back, and she sat up, engulfed in supernovas of pain that exploded in her mind. The sound of footsteps, and her vision cleared enough so that she could see who was standing there. "No, we can't have any of that here, can we?" Strong, firm hands pulled her to her feet and steadied her, leading her… Somewhere? Harlequin knew that- at any moment- John could simply lead her out a window or whip out a gun and shoot her at point-blank range. Yet he didn't. She suspected that he hadn't seen her dog tags, assuming her to be some kind of bipolar, or maybe a fearful client was a case.

Okay, maybe not the latter.

She was brought to a white room with a shower head, a toilet. Aha. The bathroom. Should've guessed. Her stomach heaved, and she dropped to her knees in front of the toilet bowl, violently throwing up the remains of her almost non-existent breakfast.

_I'm such a failure._

Leaning back, she wiped her mouth on her sleeve, and stood up, shakily. The world was back to normal, thankfully. "So…" the doctor said, casually, as she wandered over to the sink and began to wash her mouth and face. "Who exactly _are_ you?" Turning the tap off, the girl's mind flooded itself with millions of fake identities, backstories, ways to turn this setback into something that would've made her father proud to have created his spawn.

"I'm Quin," she decided, glancing at John. "Uh… Sorry about coming in drunk and all…"

"It's okay. Do you want to –uh- phone someone to pick you up?"

"Actually, no, I have a case for you to solve."

That mere sentence, those ten words, caused a flurry of emotion to flicker across his face: Excitement, confusion, panic, resignation. "Haven't you read the papers? Sherlock is… dead. If you have a case, take it to Scotland Yard," he muttered, walking out. She followed him.

"But you're the next best thing!" she blurted out, a sudden spark of inspiration flaring in her brain. "Your blog is brilliant, it is, and you're smart, too."

"No."

She stared at him as they went from the kitchen to the living room. "You'll be doing him proud, then."

"No."

A rush of anger. She _hated_ the man who stood before her, for his utter stupidity, for not playing the game. But she's change that soon…

"_Aren't ordinary people adorable?" _The line –one of Jim's favorites- echoed in her head. He had forgotten to add sometimes annoying.

She rolled her eyes. "Fine. I'll go to the Yard, get their second-rate detectives on this," Harlequin said. "Thank you for your time." Bowing stiffly, she left the flat, inwardly smirking.

Exiting the flat, she stepped into the street and took a deep breath.

_I'll just create a case then_.

It was that fucking easy. She walked away, took out her phone and speed-dialed a number. "Hello, Seb? There are a few things you and I need to do…"


	3. Chapter 3

~ Two days later~

It was raining. The flat was cold, miserable, and her phone rang, jolting her out of her daydream on the sofa. She'd been thinking of the many messy ways to kill John, and wasn't too happy about being interrupted. "Hello?" she answered.

"That DI bloke, Lestrade I think, is at the crime scene of the first body. A neighbor came round, saw the body and alerted them. You coming?"

"Give me fifteen minutes. Stay where you are."

Getting up, Harlequin grinned. Part one of the Great Plan was in action.

~At the crime scene~

Sebastian was waiting from her directly across the street from the house that the body was in. Police cars were parked outside, officers swarming the neighborhood, distraught people being comforted, the odd ambulance here and there. The fact that it was raining made everything seem more melancholy.

She walked up to him, smiled. "I'll take it from here. You can go now."

"I think I'll just-"

The look she gave him was far from friendly. "_Go_."

"It's your wish," he said, shrugging. He left, hands in his jacket pockets, and she started across the road, heading towards the house. She strode right in, swerving around the officers who were coming in and out, and went upstairs. No one stopped her. They hadn't even noticed her in all the chaos. Harlequin made a bee-line for the bedroom, and raised an eyebrow.

The body was on the bed. Female, in her late-twenties, a chemistry teacher in the local high school, red hair, grey eyes, with red-rimmed glasses and skin whiter than snow. She was lying on the bed, arms outstretched, her face a frozen mask of fear, shock. A scarlet stain above her heart. Shot at close-range, she'd been, and Harlequin had savored every minute of the bullet drilling through soft flesh.

John Watson was bending over the body, inspecting it, wearing white gloves. Beside him was a silver-haired man, most likely Lestrade. Both were too caught up in the body to notice her entrance until she cleared her throat.

"Um. Bad timing?" she asked, when they looked at her, surprised.

"This is a crime scene," the inspector protested, but the doctor groaned.

"Oh God, not you."

"That's rude." Rolling her eyes at him, she looked at Lestrade. "The name's Quin."

"Really, you're not supposed to be in here."

"Oh, shut up. Anyways, I _see_. I ask you to solve one bloody case and you refuse, but when this fellow calls, you're all 'I'm coming'. You must be lovers."

"_Lovers_?" John repeated, gawking. She shrugged, but was giggling on the inside. She hadn't realized that messing with people was this fun until now. He returned his gaze to the body, then announced, "It's just murder. Cold-blooded murder."

"Any ideas?" the inspector asked, and he bit his lip.

"I… Don't know. Revenge?" The three of them stared at the corpse like idiots for a few minutes, unmoving, thoughts whirring. Except her, naturally. She was waiting for them to discover the first clue. Waiting for the look of surprise to register.

The army doctor was the first to see the unnatural lump under the pillow, and moved, lifting the neck of the body and pulling the pillow out from underneath its head. His eyes went wide, his body stiffened. Harlequin was pleased with herself for following her father's footsteps, in fact.

A simple business card, eggshell white. Words printed on it in dark red.

_The game has begun, Johnny boy._

She loved the reaction they gave, those little starts and jerks and blinks. Resisting the urge to laugh, she went with the flow and gave a little squeal of shock. "Oh. My. God. Isn't… Isn't that your name?" Harlequin stammered. "Does that mean… Is that intended for you?"

The two men did not respond immediately. In fact, it took about a few seconds for the DI to turn to John and go, "It's for you. I'm sure."

"Think I'm not?" John retorted. "John is a common name. There are probably a _thousand_ Johns in all of England."

"But… Someone knew I'd send for you. Someone _knew_."

"Moriarty." The name shot out of his mouth, and she felt satisfied. He knew where this one was coming from. Only thing he didn't know was that the consulting criminal had a daughter. John picked up the card, delicately, and slipped it into his pocket before brushing past her, leaving the room so quickly that she compelled to tail him, Lestrade a little behind her

"Moriarty? Isn't he that guy who tried to steal the Crown Jewels? That nut?" she questioned as they exited the house and were assaulted by rain. She pulled up her hood as John stopped and rounded on them.

"Yes. And he shot himself in the bloody head. So, can anyone tell me, _how the bloody hell_ _is he still alive_?!" he yelled.

"Maybe he faked his death," the DI interjected.

_That's a nice thought_, Harlequin thought, vaguely. _Jim being alive. It's such a hassle to run his consulting criminal business. Come to think of it, I haven't been running it at _all_…_

"I have to go. Have to, I don't know, track him down. Sherlock's dead. What does he want with _me_?"

_Everything_.

Shaking his head, John backed away, turned, and she followed him. "Say, Silver," she called over her shoulder to the bemused DI. "You seem like a nice man. Fancy a cup of tea with me sometime? I'll call you, maybe."

_So far, so good. Damn, I wonder how long I'll be stringing him along like this._

Catching up with him, she walked with him in silence. Neither spoke. Perhaps there was no need to, not yet, anyways. The rain lessened, slightly, and she pulled back her hood, cast him a side-way glance. John's face was scrunched up, he was thinking, she could practically _hear_ those cogs turning away, and she knew what he was thinking.

How Jim could've survived a bullet to the brain. How he could've faked his own suicide.

The point was he _hadn't_.

~Back at Baker Street~

The rain had stopped by the time they arrived at the front door of 221B, and John turned to face her, standing directly in front of the door. "Okay, Quin, I want to make a few things very clear. One, you have absolutely _no_ part in this, so you better go home and _don't_ try to follow me. Two, and this is a question, you never had a case to solve, did you?" he said.

She regarded him with all the seriousness she could muster. "I was curious about you. Curious about the blogger to the consulting detective. So I came to you. But the drunkenness was real, I assure you, and entirely my fault."

"How about trying to kill me?"

"That was a mistake. I carry stuff like this around for protection," Harlequin answered with ease. Lying was part of her trade, almost as much as her weapons were.

"Against?"

"Whoever thinks they can take advantage of me."

"Don't your parents worry?"

"Parents?" she laughed. "You honestly don't know _anything_ about me, and most likely wouldn't give a fuck."

"Maybe I would." He seemed to think about it, then opened the door. "Come in. As much as I want you to go home and leave me alone, come in. I'll put the kettle on."

They went upstairs, he to the kitchen, she to the living room, inspecting it. It was nice. Far more 'homey' than her own place. Flicking the skull on the mantle with a finger, Harlequin turned away, about to sit down, and caught sight of the violin on the ground. Picking it up, she seated herself in the more comfortable armchair, and ran the bow across the strings.

A squeal that hurt her ears. She winced.

_Looks like those bloody lessons were a waste. See, mother? These hands are made for killing, not playing the violin._

Fragments of long forgotten songs popped in mind, but she chose to ignore them. _Might as well play something now that I'm holding it…_ She created her own melody, there and then, closing her eyes and letting raw emotion course through her. It was a song of hatred and chaos, a song of loss and insanity.

Footsteps. "The tea's ready…"

Her eyes opened, and she saw John bearing a tray with two cups balanced on it. Setting the violin down, Harlequin grabbed one of the cups, sipped a little tea. "Thank you."

"Hm." He took the seat across from her. "You're sitting in my favorite chair."

"Tough luck."

"I heard you play. It was… Powerful."

"Am I better than Sherlock then?" she questioned.

He didn't answer hurriedly changing the topic. "Right. I don't know anything about you, so tell me something."

"I had an okay childhood."

"Keep going," he insisted.

"My mother raised me, though my father was there. He had bigger fish to fry. My mother was killed when I was eight. Drug overdose. Never knew she was an addict, really. So I moved to London with my father, but we lived apart. He committed suicide a while ago," she lied, weaving truth and fiction together.

"Aha. I'm sorry."

"Don't be."

She drank the rest of her tea, placed the cup aside and sighed, the warmth of the liquid flowing through her. "I suppose I'll be off now. Things to do, people to see," she told him, getting up. "The tea was good."

"Will you be coming back?"

"Two minutes ago, you were telling me to leave, and now you're asking me to stay? Of course I'll come back. This is- in a word that describes this perfectly- _dangerous_. And I like danger."

~That night~

She sat in the back of a taxi, dressed in black, thinking. The first victim was totally unrelated to John, so the second had to be, or it would appear random. Her phone beeped, alerting her of a text. Harlequin took it out, read it.

_You asleep yet? -SM_

_Obviously not. The next victim, I need help choosing. –HM_

_Give me a second. –SM_

She waited. The moonlight illuminated the screen of her phone. It beeped again.

_How about the housekeeper? –SM_

_That is too soon. –HM_

_Who else? –SM_

_Hmm. We'll see. –HM_

Slipping her phone back into her pocket, she tapped the driver.

"Turn around. We're going to Scotland Yard."


	4. Chapter 4

~Outside Scotland Yard~

Harlequin headed towards the entrance of the building, doing her best to look friendly and not too suspicious. She stopped halfway there, decided against going in, and just stood there, in the darkness. He came out soon, looking up at the sky, at the billions of stars that dotted it.

_God, he's such an idiot…_

He passed right by her without actually noticing her, and she let him get a few feet in front of her, before running and jumping on his back, hands locked around this neck.

DI Lestrade's reaction came as a half-surprise to her, if that was even possible. His hands went to hers, wrenching them off with surprising speed, and she thought she'd just fall on her ass, but _no_, the bloody man had to do something _else_. He whirled around, his elbow cracking against her jaw, and only then did she fall.

Lestrade's eyes widened. "Wait, aren't you that bloody girl from the crime scene? Oh God, I didn't mean it, I thought you were, you jumped at me, so I, I…" he trailed off. She looked up at him, unable to speak from the shock.

Harlequin felt _humiliated. _As though he'd personally told the world that he- an incompetent, bumbling _fool_- had beaten her. _Her_. _Harlequin Moriarty._

"All I wanted was to say hello!" she finally burst out, glaring at him as she got to her feet. "You're so _mean_, do you know that?!"

"Who asked you to do that anyways?"

"That's what people DO!" she screamed, watching him flinch and enjoying it. A spark of insanity somewhere in her ignited, causing flames to spread across her mind. But she had to keep it down. Had to keep it silent, or the game would be over, and she'd have wasted her efforts. Lestrade stared at her, slightly unnerved. "What do you want from me, anyways?" he asked.

"I just wanted to ask you if there were any latest developments in that murder."

"We've identified the victim: Chelsea Hood."

She nodded, as if interested. "Oh, cool. Hey, look, if anything new comes up, just give a ring, yeah?" She told him her phone number, made him repeat it back to her as proof that he was listening, and nodded again. "Great." He strode away, and she followed him.

"You should be home by now," the detective commented, giving her a glance.

Harlequin shrugged. "I'll hitch a ride."

"You're expecting _me_ to give you a lift home, aren't you?"

"No, I'm not. Really."

"_Really?_" He gave her a dubious look, and she held up her hands.

"I'm not fucking kidding, Silver. I'm walking."

Lestrade reached his car, unlocked the door, and slid in behind the wheel, shutting the door. The engine roared to life. She stood there, a few paces back. The car did not move. The window rolled down to reveal a very annoyed looking detective. "Oh, alright, get in the damned car, for God's sake," he growled. "I can't stand leaving you here alone."

"Thanks," she said, giggling, as she got in the passenger seat. This time, the car _did_ move. She told him an address that wasn't too far from her _real_ one, and they drove in silence, with only the radio to fill it in. "Um… You single, looking for love?" she asked, trying to somehow steer the conversation towards something that could be used as a weapon against John. "…Have a burning _desire_ for a certain _dashing_ army doctor who has a blog?"

"I'm… Uh… Divorced. And, no, I don't have a _burning desire_ for John. I mean, what kind of rubbish is that?!"

"You could be keeping it inside." Harlequin patted his arm. "It's okay, you can tell me. It'll be our dirty little secret."

Rolling his eyes, he continued driving, and she gazed out the window. The address she'd given him was about ten minutes from their current location, and at the speed Lestrade was going, they'd be there in no time. She had to do something. And _fast_. "Tell me about John."

"John?" He shot her a quizzical look.

"Yep."

"John… Nothing much to tell you: He's just _John. _He's loyal, strong, Sherlock's best man, the ex-soldier."

"Aha."

The car slowed down, coming to a gradual halt. She digested that information, even if it was just a few miserable scraps, and got out of the car without so much a word of thanks. She didn't think the detective would need it. Watching the car cut through the night like a shark, Harlequin sighed. She'd give anything, absolutely _anything_ for a ray of inspiration to strike her so she could continue her little game.

But nothing happened. So she walked up the street, hands in her pockets, whistling softly. Tomorrow would sneak up on her, and she'd be damned if she wasn't ready for it.

~The next morning~

The knock on her door came just as she finished her breakfast of a single, red apple. "Door's open," she called, and Sebastian came in, carrying a paper bag in one hand, duffel bag containing his gun in the other.

"Morning, Seb."

Setting his bag down, he placed the bag directly in front of her and pointed at it. "_This_ is yours. I want no buts. All I want you to do is eat every single fucking thing in the bag, got it?"

"What?" She peered into the bag, wrinkled her nose. Inside were various types of food: Buns, bagels, even a couple of cupcakes and a steaming cup of coffee. "I can't eat all _this_!" The sniper growled at her, a guttural sound, and fished out one of the bagels.

"Eat or I won't hesitate stuffing this down your throat," he threatened.

"You're not my father. You're not even _related_."

"No, but I'm the only friend you've got, and friends care for each other. So eat the fucking bagel, Harlequin Moriarty, or else."

"Fine." Rolling her eyes, she snatched the bagel out of his grip and nibbled it. "Why the sudden need to feed me?"

"You've lost weight since the day I told you about Jim's death. Lots of weight. I don't want to see you become anorexic or something."

"Aw, go to hell, you bastard," she said, extracting the coffee and removing the lid before drinking it. It burned going down her throat. Burned in a nice way. Sebastian watched her, judging every morsel that passed through her lips and slid down her gullet. His eyes went distant pretty soon, so that made the whole scenario less awkward. Her stomach felt full as she finished the bagel, but she wanted to prove to him that she was alright and that there was no need to sweep in and make a damn fuss, and chose a cupcake to eat next. It tasted like chocolate, the sprinkles weren't too bad either, and she had to admire the sniper for his wonderful taste in food.

"Hey, Seb?" Harlequin asked, swallowing.

His eyes snapped into focus, sharpening on reality. "Yeah, Quin?"

"Do you… You know, miss him?"

"He was my boss. It was a professional relationship at its best, but we had our share of memories, so, yeah. I miss him."

"What if he's alive?" The question broke a little part of her deep inside, but on the outside, she showed on actual emotion, just curiosity.

Sebastian laughed, a bitter sound. "That's the stuff of bloody fantasies." Shrugging, she continued her slow struggle through the rest of her breakfast.

When she had finished, the sniper nodded, approvingly, and stood up. "I was doing some thinking last night. How about you keep on killing randomly, but in such bizarre manners that the DI fellow will show up with his team, get stumped, call in the doctor, and you'll tag along? Each time, the messages will get more cryptic, as though Jim himself is committing murder from the grave."

"Or if those people were somehow connected to Jim."

"Exactly!"

They locked eyes with each other. A grin broke out on Harlequin's face. "God, Seb, you're a fucking _genius_!" she announced. Ducking his head, he shrugged, modestly, then wandered over to the sofa and threw himself down as she jumped up and began pacing around the room, hands behind her back, thinking, thinking.

"Let's begin with something simple," she whispered, so quietly that he had to strain his ears to hear her. Her eyes were distance. "Perhaps we don't necessarily need the murders to be connected to Jim. Perhaps they could be connected in a different way."

"That woman at the crime scene. I'd describe her as snow white, you know. Did you see how _pale_ she was?"

The pieces clicked. Her head snapped up, and Harlequin would've grabbed Sebastian and kissed him there and then if she could. But, clearly, that would be unprofessional. So she grinned. "You really _are_ a fucking genius! Fairytales! Jim loved fairytales, he did."

"So I guess we're going on a murder-spree tonight?"

"God _yes_."


	5. Chapter 5

~Operation Fairytale~

~8:30 p.m. ~

The night was young, the air filled with music from nearby pubs. Harlequin and Sebastian stood outside one of those pubs, waiting for a man. His name was Jonathan Rider, according to his business card, and he was apparently a low-profile actor. She'd never seen him on television before, but that being said, she never did like to watch whatever show he'd starred in. The only reason she had to obtain his card, had to call him to meet her, was because of the game she was playing.

A taxi pulled up directly in front of them, and the actor got out. He looked, in a word, _suitable_: Dark eyes, dark brown hair, something in his expression that made him look so innocent, and when he looked at her, his eyes darkened out of suspicion, she saw the potential in him. Not perfect, but he would do. "Jonathan, I presume?" she asked, putting on a warm smile and extending her hand. "I'm Quin. Thanks for meeting us here. This is Seb, my, um, _bodyguard_." Behind her, the snipe chuckled, a low and dark sound.

Jonathan laughed. "Bodyguard, huh? You must be pretty famous."

"Yeah, somewhat." Harlequin took his arm, and steered him down the alley near the pub. "So, got a family?"

"Yep. Two daughters, a beautiful wife."

"You're a lucky man, Mr. Rider."

"Call me Jon."

Harlequin knew his address. She'd asked Sebastian to scout it out. Two daughters, Rose and China, twins, eight years old. A wife named Cameron. The happiest family on the block, if not the wealthiest. She'd have so much fun with them when the actor had served his purpose.

Halfway down the alley, the sniper a shadow a few paces behind them, she let go of Jonathan's arm, and took out her gun, pointing it at him. His eyes widened, and he took a step back. "What the hell is this?"

She shrugged. "A means of getting what I want. Why did you come anyways?"

"You said you were a fan… And I _like_ to meet my fans."

"And _that_ was a fatal mistake," she laughed, her aim not wavering. "Now, I want you to listen _very_ carefully. If you screw this, you can say goodbye to Rose, China and Cameron while I kill them slowly."

He was sweating, fear evident in his eyes.

_They care so much. It's their flaw._

Harlequin spoke slowly, pronouncing every word with crisp finality. "I want your acting skills, Jon. I want you to be the villain in my fairytale. Are you listening?"

He nodded, swallowed, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down. "Y-yes."

"Good. I'm going to kill a lot of people, model their deaths in the shape of fairytales. But _you_, my good man, are going to take all the credit. From this day forth, the person behind these crimes will be James Moriarty, the real deal. They think he's an actor, the world. They think he's Richard Brook. But he fucking wasn't. Yet they think so. And you will be unmasked," she told him, enjoying the way he shuddered with each word. "Sebastian here will keep the tabs on your family, round the clock. And you know what happens if you disappoint me…"

The sniper tapped her on the back. "Time to go."

"Okay," she said, sighing. Slipping the gun into her pocket, she smiled at Jonathan. "I will be in touch. But don't forget. I'm watching you." Harlequin giggled, and walked away, leaving the actor standing there, rigid and afraid. She had better things to do, anyways.

~The next morning~

Her phone rang, jolting her out of nightmares in which her father dared her to shoot him and she refused, prompting him to turn into a creature of darkness from a child's dream from so long ago, in a different house, when her mother was still alive. Grabbing it, she answered with a growl.

"There's been a murder. _Several_ murders. You better come," came DI Lestrade's voice, and her whole mood changed.

The murders had been discovered, and pretty soon, the clues too. "Give me fifteen minutes," she answered, disconnecting and getting up.

_I'm going to fucking show them what gruesome means._


	6. A random insertion halfway through

Hello ^^

*rubs neck awkwardly*

I'm here for, um, a purpose.

Yeah, I suck at words XD

So anyways, thanks for all the views and reviews, yeah?

*long pause*

Sorry if the next few chapters go a little slow… Cause, uh, sometimes I get so blur that I just zone out and/or type random rubbish that doesn't sound good.

I think Chapter Five was one of those times.

Sorry about that :3

And sorry if things don't add up, if personalities go awry, and if my spelling and grammar is terrible.

I hope it isn't.

Okay, thanks ^^

I needed to write that.

Oh, yeah.

And all the characters, except Harlequin and Jonathan and all the other OCs, belong to Sir ACD, Moftiss and such ^^

Credit where it's due because I forgot to put that XD

*disappears*


	7. Chapter 6

~First crime scene~

She ran up the steps of the house, swerving around police officers and other obstacles, so eager to see what one night of mayhem looked like in the daylight. Probably a lot bloodier, since the darkness hid most of what she'd done. "What did I miss?" Harlequin asked, as she skidded to a halt in the living room. Then she allowed her jaw to drop, her eyes to widen. "Okay, what the fuck happened?!"

Secretly, she was pleased with the results. Blood coated the sofa, dripping onto the floor. The woman lay on the sofa, hands folded like a dead body. Her eyes open to reveal empty sockets. Tear tracks of blood running down the side of her face. Her long blonde hair a cushion for her head, this Rapunzel. And on the ground beside her was the 'prince'. His eyes were gone too, but his mouth was open, and on his tongue was nestled the woman's bright blue eyes, fear frozen in them. One of his hands was wrapped around a kitchen knife. Harlequin remembered how he'd tried to defend the woman, the amazement in his eyes as she took out the gun and fired. She'd enjoyed prying his eyeballs out though, the blood drenching her in its warm embrace.

John Watson, projecting an outward aura of calm and firmness, glanced at her over his shoulder. "Oh, _lots_," he said, and she had to admire his sarcasm at a time like this.

"Whoever did this was a bloody _monster_." It was the detective inspector, walking in like he owned the bloody place. Disgust was written all over his face.

_Monster…_

The word echoed in her mind, barbaric and uncouth. She liked her title to have a little style, and _monster_ was not stylish.

_Murder is an art. Therefore, I am an artist._

Artist. Stylish indeed. Struggling to keep the grin off her face, Harlequin put a hand to her mouth, as though about to be sick, drew a deep breath, and was back to business. "So. Uh. Well. Need any help? Since you called me here…" she trailed off, casting another glance at the bodies. No one replied, so she shrugged, approached the sofa, her sneakers squelching in the blood puddles on the floor. Going up to the woman's body, she gave the hair a little tug. "She's like a Rapunzel, you know. Long hair and shit," she commented. "And I was thinking. About the other one, Chelsea Hood, wasn't it? She looked pretty much like Snow White."

"He liked fairytales…" The realization seeped into John's voice, slowly, at first, and she stepped back as he went to the bodies and peered at it. "Fairytales…"

"So you think he's still alive then?" Lestrade asked, coming to stand with them.

The three of them looked down at the bodies. "Definitely."

She prodded the dead woman's arm with a finger, acting repulsed. "Ew. Just plain ew." And as planned, the card in the woman's sleeve dislodged and fell, face-down in the puddle of blood. Scooping it up, she read the number, frowned, then tapped the army doctor. "This fell out of her sleeve."

He read the card, despite it now being slightly blood-soaked, read the number printed on it, the words _Call me, Johnny boy_ printed on it. His eyes hardened. A hand went to his pocket, drawing out his phone. "I'm going to call that bloody bastard right now," John growled, punching in the numbers, furiously. "I'm going to fucking _kill_ him."

Putting the phone on loudspeaker, so that everyone could hear, he pressed the 'call' button. The phone was picked up immediately. "Hello, Johnny boy. And how are we today, hmm?" Jonathan Rider played it perfectly, he even _sounded_ like Jim. Harlequin shuddered with delight.

"Listen here, you sick, twisted fucker. I don't know what your game is. The only things I know are that you're murdering people in a manner of fairytales and that _you_ are meant to be _dead_."

"Oh, that wasn't me, you see. That was Richard Brook, poor sod. _I'm_ the real Moriarty. James Moriarty if you wish, but, please, call me Jim."

"When I meet you face-to-face, you're going the same way as Richard."

"Terrible, isn't it?" Jonathan said, cheerfully. "A few more murders before I'm done. All I want is some _fun_."

"Fuck you," she chimed in, helpfully, and there was momentary silence.

"I would if I could, I'm just _that_ handsome, but no. John here should figure out my location by the time the last body is found. Oh, yes, and the next body should be discovered very soon. Do _not_ disappoint me." The line was cut, and John glared at his phone.

"Looks like we'll be working overtime…" Lestrade muttered, glumly.

"Oh _shut up_, Silver."

He gave her a dirty look, and she returned it equally, before transferring her gaze to the army doctor.

"Come on, John," Harlequin urged, tugging his sleeve. "I think you need to cool down."

"Fuck him. _Fuck him_," he kept on muttering as she dragged him out of the house. Deep down inside, she was impressed. Jonathan had pulled it off better than she'd expected. He was good. If that acting had been real, he'd probably be her uncle or someone. But-of course- she had never met her uncles. And even if she had, she probably wouldn't like them.

"So we know he's alive, he's behind this. Now what?" Harlequin asked, as they stood outside, breathing in the crisp air.

John hissed something in a low tone, but the sound of harsh braking drowned him out. A police car pulled up across the street, and a very pale officer jumped out, sprinted towards the house, her brown hair a mess, pupils dilated. "Sir!" she yelled, and Lestrade came out of the house, looking harassed.

"What _now_?!" the DI called back.

"There's been another murder," the officer said, naming an address not too far from their current location. "Shopkeeper nearby complained about the smell." Harlequin fought back a grin.

_Little Red Riding Hood. A personal favorite._

"Right." The silver-haired detective caught her eye. "Look, you two, get into my car. We're going."

~Second crime scene~

An alley, that was where the body was. _Bodies_, plural, actually. The young girl couldn't have been more than ten, and the man beside her must've been her father, judging by the similarities in their appearances. Harlequin, John, and Lestrade strode up to the bodies, and blanched simultaneously.

The girl had been covered with a red cloth, soaking with her own blood. There was a gaping hole where her stomach was, and her intestines had been ripped out, forming the cord that tied the cloth firmly under her chin, cutting into her flesh. The man had bear paws stitched onto his arms. His real hands had been sawed from his arms and placed over his eyes. The man's mouth was gaping, revealing his teeth, carefully sharpened into fangs to give him a wolf-like appearance, and when Harlequin nudged his hands away, smearing her shoes with blood, his eyes were open, staring in disbelief. They were green, a rather pretty shade. The girl's eyes were screwed shut, and her mouth frozen in a silent scream of agony and terror mixed together.

"Oh, God, really?" John peered over her shoulder, shuddered and bit his lip. Then he crouched down, and used his fingers to probe the girl's eyelids open. The three of them investigated for a bit, moving the bodies, looking for clues to the next crime scene or a hint for Moriarty's location. Something came to life inside of her when she saw the others scrabbling around. A different emotion then she usually felt. It felt _warm_, and she hadn't felt that way since, she didn't know, probably when she killed her first man and Jim had patted her on her head.

_I do _not _like this. Is this what friendship feels like? Love? Can't have myself getting all sentimental, warming up to these blokes. I'm going to kill them anyways, in the end._

Shaking her head, she saw John examine the chest cavity of the girl, and exclaim in surprise. "There's something in here!" He beckoned, and they came over to him, bent down. The army doctor had indeed found something- another clue she'd made Sebastian plant, simply because she didn't want to dirty her hands with more blood than she wanted. Sticking his hand into the hole, and wincing at the slipperiness of the inside of the body, John grasped the object and withdrew it, gripping it tightly in his fist.

"What is it?" Lestrade enquired, wrinkling his nose.

Uncurling his fist, John held it up so they could get a better look. Her eyes widened. It wasn't the clue she's asked the sniper to plant. Sebastian must've switched it when she wasn't looking. But _why_? She was going to have a word with him tonight. Sebastian Moran had put a chunk of dirt there. Unstylish. Not at all suitable for a man of Jim's taste, and he _knew_ it. He put it there, knowing that it would elicit a response from her, unleash her fury.

_I'm going to fucking kill you, Sebastian Moran. I'm going to mount your head on my wall and taxidermy your body and stuff it into a glass coffin and display it proudly._

But projecting her outwards aura of sick amazement and horror, she merely raised a quizzical eyebrow. "Dirt? Seriously, _dirt_?"

"Maybe it's directly from Moriarty's location," Lestrade suggested, and John stood, slowly, cupping the valuable soil in his palm. A sudden thought struck her.

Harlequin would be damned if Sebastian hadn't gone and dug up some of Jonathan Rider's front lawn just to mislead all of them.

_Oh, you clever bastard. But don't think I'm going to forgive _that_ easily. There's still going to be hell to pay…_

"We'll send these to the lab, John, Quin, you two should best get home. I'll come by the flat when we've got something."

"Yeah, sure."

"Yes, sir," she teased, giving the detective inspector mock salute, and turning on her heels. Looping her hand around John's arm, she walked him out of the alley, devising a plan to punish Sebastian for his disobedience with each heavy step. Throwing out her hand, Harlequin hailed a taxi, and opened the door.

"Get in, John."

"What about you?" he quizzed, as he got into the cab, cocking his head.

"I'm going to walk. Helps me think, long walks does. I guess I'll see you tomorrow," she replied, winking at him and shutting the door. He merely stared back at her. She blew him a kiss, stuck out her tongue, and stalked off in the opposite direction, hands in her pockets.

He slithered out of the darkness to join her, after she'd walked from the second crime scene to a few blocks down. There was still some way to go, so she didn't mind his company. Even if it was probably hallucination.

"Having fun, are we?" The man's obsidian eyes were lit with some kind of inner fire, and a crooked smile played across his lips.

"Seb went to mess with my plans," Harlequin complained, rolling her eyes, kind of accepting that he was _there_, walking with her. At least she'd have a decent conversation.

"Ah, but that turned out to be a rather nice twist."

"I don't know where he got the soil. I think it's from Jonathan's lawn. But what if he double-crossed me and took it from nearby my flat?"

A spasm of fear passed through her, and she crushed it. No. The sniper was too loyal, and would die before he betrayed the daughter of his employer.

_Maybe he wanted to contribute to the game…_ she thought, reassuring herself.

"He wouldn't _dare_," was the reply, voice so quiet that it could hardly be heard.

"So. How often are you going to be here? You know, as in, with me?"

"Only when I want to."

"Technically, you're dead, which means my subconscious is making you appear. So you appear only when _I_ want you to," Harlequin put in, explaining the little theory she'd concocted in the space of a few minutes.

The man's answer was to shrug, and pat her head. "I wish your mother was here. She'd be terrified to see the monster I've turned you into," he said, wistfully.

"Yeah." She held back a giggle. Her mother had been an old client of her father's, a nurse driven out of her mind by her brother's death, which she suspected her neighbors of killing him. She'd contacted Jim and he'd told her how to kill the neighbors, then gave her shelter when she was being hunted by the police. Somehow, her sanity had returned. Harlequin was rather amused by that bit as a child. So insanity ran in her veins, and killing was the trade she was destined to do. Seemed rather nice. Grinning, she continued to walk in silence, by the side of a dead man.

~Outside her flat~

"Well, I suppose this is it," she said, finally, when they reached the door to her flat. "Goodnight, Jim."

"Goodnight, Harlequin," Jim replied, taking a step back. Those dark, soulless eyes glittered for a moment before the darkness consumed him. She smiled.

_I'm going insane. I've even gone and conjured up my own father, and he's six feet underground. Or in Hell. Either one. Oh, well. There's no point in regretting now. The walk was a little less lonely…_

Turning the doorknob, she entered the flat, and went upstairs. It was time for her sniper to be put in his place.

So here we are again.

*Grins shyly*

Sorry this chapter took so long, yeah?

It was a bit longer than I expected it to be, but I think it's… _Different_.

I tried to make the murders gory, and I have no idea if I succeeded, so if it isn't, I'll try to brew something better.

*Coughs*

I have no idea about the whole Jim-is-from-Harlequin's-mind thing, or where the soil came from, actually.

*Laughs*

It just materialized.

I get so distracted sometimes :3

Uh… So… Hope you liked it ^^

I'm still trying to figure out _how_ she'll confront Sebastian, but I'll think of something…

Bye ^^

*Gets eaten by the darkness*


	8. Chapter 7

~Upstairs~

The flat was dark when she entered it, shutting the door behind her, lit only by the candles that were perched on the window sill.

"Seb?" Harlequin called, softly. "I'm home. And I know you're in here somewhere."

The sound of glass breaking in the kitchen, followed by muffled swearing was the answer she received. So she went to the kitchen to check it out. Sebastian Moran sat on the floor, one leg drawn to his chest, clutching an almost empty bottle of liquor. Glass shards littered the floor around him, and beside him were three similar bottles, all waiting to be drunk. Blood dripped off his fingers, onto the ground, and Harlequin realized that there were cuts all over both his arms. Instantly, she put her punishment for him aside, and bit her lip.

"You've forgotten Jim's rule, haven't you?" she asked, using a tone she reserved for times when it was absolutely necessary.

"I haven't," Sebastian said, and she noticed there was a slur to his voice. A slight slur, his eyes bloodshot. He'd probably been sitting here for a long time, since she'd been gone since morning, and now the sun was dipping lower in the sky. "Haven't forgotten anything he's told me…"

"Neither have I." Crouching directly in front of him, she poked his forehead. "Now, I don't care if you are fucking drunk or even remotely aware of what I am saying. What I want to know is what fucking soil you've put in the girl's body."

"Girl? What girl?"

She slapped him, as hard as she could, and his head rocketed back, slamming into the sink. "What the fuck was that for?!" he yelled, but she ignored him.

"Red Riding Hood, you bastard."

Sebastian rubbed his jaw, then nodded, slowly. "Oh. _That_ soil. It was from that Rider bloke's house."

She relaxed slightly, before stiffening. The police would go to Jonathan's house, he'd tell them the truth, and it would be over. She had to stop them. She couldn't let them win the game.

But first, she had to punish the sniper.

He drained the bottle of liquor he was holding, and lobbed it at the wall. A loud crash, and the glass rained down. "You're just like your father, Quin, with all your ways and secrets. Did I ever tell you I'd lay down my fucking life to protect him?"

Before he could so much as blink, her face was inches from his, her knife pressed to his throat. "One more fucking word, Moran, and I'll slit your throat," she spat. Glaring resentfully at her, he worked up a mouthful of saliva and spat in her face. That was it. Harlequin's face darkened. Her mood changed, all sympathy for the sniper was gone, and in its place was anger. Fury. Rage. The emotion came out of nowhere, like a flower blooming in the middle of winter.

"Open your mouth."

"Fuck you too."

"I _said_," she pressed the knife harder, and watched droplets of blood form, run down his skin. "Open your mouth."

Sebastian did as she told him, and she smiled as she plunged the tip of the knife into his tongue. He howled, she withdrew the knife, and observed the way blood immediately flooded the sniper's mouth. His hand found one of the unopened bottles beside him, his hand tightened around it, and Harlequin didn't have any time to move before the bottle hit her.

Alcohol soaked her, the smell intoxicating her, and there was blood running down the side of her face. Numbly, she reached a hand up to her forehead, and felt the stickiness of her blood. In front of her, the man was panting, spitting out mouthfuls of blood. The kitchen looked like a warzone. "If you disobey me one more time, I'll rip your tongue out of your throat and serve it to you. I don't give a shit if Jim would've wanted you alive."

His reply was to stick out his tongue and blow. Blood splattered her face, warm and faintly smelling of metal. She took her knife, reached out and grabbed one of the bottles, opening it and taking a long swig. When she was done, the girl slashed a huge gash on his arm. The sniper yelped, but stifled it quickly. More blood was pouring down her face, his arm. Extending an arm he snatched the bottle from her, but she slapped him again, and the bottle flew from his grip, crashing to the floor and breaking, spilling liquor everywhere.

Scrambling to her feet, she gripped his hands and helped Sebastian up. "Okay, that's enough drinking for today. Need to be sober for tomorrow, still have things to do, don't we?"

"Yeah, Jim used to act all fucking nice, too, after he beat the shit out of me for failing in a mission or something. You really _are_ a Moriarty," the sniper replied, crimson liquid dribbling down the side of his mouth, his words slurred because of his drunkenness and because of his tongue.

"Shut the fuck up." She led him to the bathroom, being careful not to tread on the glass shards that were strewn around, and sat him on the lid of the toilet. Turning on the tap, she looked in the mirror behind her.

_That is a fucking big gash_…

Giving the sniper a glare, she proceeded to get out the First-Aid kit from the cabinet beside the mirror and began to clean his cuts. When she was done, she bandaged them, then made him stick out his tongue.

"It'll heal," Harlequin commented, shrugging. "Now go and clean up the mess you've made. And if you fall asleep or throw up doing it, I swear tomorrow you'll wake up in a plane to the Amazon."

Sebastian grunted, and got up, leaving her alone. With a tired sigh, she let her legs give way and slumped onto the floor.

~Later~

By the time they'd got the smell of blood and alcohol out of the kitchen, cleaned up everything, gotten the smell of out their clothes, Harlequin could barely move her legs.

She stood by the window, looking out onto the city's bright lights, thinking of what she'd do tomorrow. Confront Jonathan perhaps. Sebastian lounged on the sofa, eyes open, staring, tracking every move she made. His sniper rifle was propped up beside him. Harlequin supposed it was his way of saying sorry.

"Are you _guarding _me?" she asked, quietly.

"Protecting." He shrugged.

"Why? I can protect myself. You're merely here because my father _owned_ you, and now that he'd dead, _I_ own you."

"I failed to protect your goddamn father. Can't let _you_ go chasing after the army doctor and end up blowing yourself to pieces."

"I'm not like Jim."

"Yes, you are," Sebastian insisted. "He was a right little fucker, and so are you."

"Hmph."

She passed him without another word, heading for her room. He stared at her with those bloodshot eyes. If she was stupid, if she was sentimental, she'd have thought those were tears in his eyes, glistening in the dying candlelight.

~The next morning~

She'd slipped out of the flat without Sebastian noticing, and took a cab to Jonathan Rider's house, in a neighborhood not too far away. Now she stood at the front gate, gazing at it. It was a white house, with a couple of beanbags on the front porch, and a wind chime hanging from the roof. The lawn was neatly trimmed, and she could hear the faint strains of laughter from inside.

Opening the gate without so much as a creak, Harlequin went up the stairs, and knocked on the front door. She hoped it would be one of the children who answered. She'd gauge their weaknesses, and use it against their father when the time came.

The door opened. "Who are you?" A small girl peered out, all dark eyes and equally dark hair. Rose Rider, if she wasn't mistaken: China had a tanner complexion than her paler twin.

"Hello. I'm a friend of your father's. Could you call him?" she requested, smiling in such an open, friendly way, but Rose frowned.

"You're too young to be my dad's friend."

"No one is too young to be friends." Her expression darkened, and she let her voice sink into a low growl. "Now _go and get your father_."

The child's eyes widened, scared, and she scampered off, hopefully to call Jonathan instead of Cameron. So she stood out there, hands by her side, waiting patiently.

"It's _you_." Jonathan Rider stepped outside, shutting the door behind him. His tone held awe, disgust, the odd splash of fear. "What do you want?"

"That shirt looks good on you," she said, slipping on her smile as easy as that. "I do like my men with some degree of style. Give me a well-dressed man over a shirtless one any day."

"What do you want?" he repeated, dark eyes flashing, arms folded.

"My bodyguard screwed up. Instead of planting a clue on a body, he dug up your lawn and out it there. If the police come here, the game will be up. You'll tell them the truth, I'll be sent to prison."

"Good for you." He smirked.

"That also means," she continued, pretending that he'd never said a word. "That I will send my bodyguard to hunt you down and kill your family in front of your eyes." Now _that_ wiped that stupid little smirk clean off the actor's face. The color drained out of his skin. She could see a thousand scenarios running through his mind.

"I'll do it. Whatever you say. Just, please, don't hurt my family," Jonathan pleaded.

_I have him in the palm of my hand_.

Harlequin thought about it for a moment. She could always double-cross him and send Sebastian after the Riders either way. But that would be plain _rude_.

"I'm going to arrange for your family to be taken somewhere for, how do I say this… _safekeeping_, while you stay here and put on the whole Moriarty façade, got it? I'll give you an earpiece, and you'll repeat exactly what the person on the other end of the line says. You'll follow whatever instruction he gives you."

"And if I mess up?"

"If you so much as suggest you _aren't_ Moriarty, within two hours, I'll make you wish you were dead."

"And where are you going to keep my family?"

"Don't worry, they'll be safe, as long as _you_ do your job."

"But I haven't told them about this," Jonathan's voice dropped so that she had to lean forward to catch his words.

"_I_ will tell them myself," she reassured him, patting his arm. "Relax. At least you know they'll be alive for a while."

Then, she added, "Your house will need a makeover though. But I'll handle that."

"When will this happen?"

"You'll know." This time, the girl's grin almost split her face in half. "Oh, you'll know alright…"


	9. Chapter 8

~ The next day~

Harlequin strode into the Scotland Yard building to see John and Lestrade already there, standing and talking in the middle of the room. She walked up to them. "Any news on the soil?" she questioned, and the men exchanged glances.

"Not yet. The boys in the lab are still working on it, but we'll have the results by this afternoon," the DI replied.

That was more than enough time to get Jonathan organized.

She nodded. "What do we do now?"

"Wait, I guess," John put in, not too pleased, judging by the tone of his voice.

"Aha."

"Perhaps you two should just go. I'll call you when the samples are ready, then we'll go to the location."

The army doctor shook his head, stubbornly. "I prefer to stay here, Greg."

"_I_ have things to do," she informed. "Say, anyone up for lunch later?"

No one answered.

"Fine then. I'll call you later and ask again."

Waving her fingers at them, she winked and made her exit.

_That was a waste of time._

At least she roughly knew how much time she had left. Harlequin whipped out her phone, sent a text.

_We have till this afternoon to prepare Mr. Rider and his family. You ready? –HM_

After a few moments, she received a reply.

_Ready as I'll ever be. Want me to send a taxi to pick you up? –SM_

_No, I'm walking. Saves money. –HM_

… _Okay. What are my instructions? –SM_

She typed out what he needed to do, precisely detailed. The reply was a smiley face, followed by the words _you got it, Boss_.

_Good boy, eh, Seb? Oh-so loyal now that I've put you in your place. _

Slipping her phone back into her pocket, Harlequin glanced back at the building.

_Soon, _she promised.

~A few hours later~

Harlequin stood by the sidewalk and watched as Rose, China, and Cameron were led out of the house by a grim-looking Jonathan, heading for the black car with tinted windows behind her, courtesy of one of her father's old clients. The actor was talking fast and quietly to his wife, and her blue eyes were getting bigger and more fear-filled with each passing moment.

Cameron cast a glance at Harlequin, and she waved. "You'll be fine, Cameron. As long as Jonathan here does as he's told."

"Where are we going?" China grumbled, pouting. "I don't want to go out."

"Daddy's got some work to do, darling," her mother said, herding them towards the car. "We can't disturb him, so we're going out."

"Okay."

The girl watched them get into the car, and waited for the car to drive off before smiling. "Don't disappoint me."

"I won't."

"Good. Some of my people will be here to make your house more… _Jim-like_. He's got style. You don't."

She dug the earpiece meant for him out of her pocket, handed it to him, and frowned. The sun was almost at its peak. She'd better call those two bastards for lunch.

Right on time, a taxi drew up, and Sebastian stepped out, unfolding his body. In one hand, he carried a Westwood suit, folded over his arm, and in the other, he held his own earpiece. Reverently, the sniper brought the suit to the actor.

"Spill anything on this baby, and I'll kill you. Dry cleaning costs a fortune," Harlequin snarled, eyeing Jonathan, daring him to defy her.

The man took the suit, cradling it as though it was his first-born child, fitting the earpiece snugly into his ear. His dark eyes held hers for a moment. She could see a million questions flitting through his mind, overwhelming concern for his family, and the sheer amazement at being scared of a teenager.

Her hand went to her gun, and she put the barrel to his lips. Jonathan went very, _very_ still. "This is how the real Moriarty died. He pulled the trigger. And perhaps, at that time, he'd forgotten all about me. All he cared about was Sherlock fucking Holmes at that point," Harlequin explained, her eyes blazing. "The consulting detective was all that mattered. He'd drop by the flat, and he'd go on and on about that bloody idiot. But you… You're now obsessed with John, get it? And _why_ is the question you've got to avoid."

Deliberately, she drew the gun back as slowly as possible, stowed it away, and turned to Sebastian, who was standing quite forgotten behind them, the taxi still there, engine running.

"Sorry." She managed to throw a grin at the sniper, who returned it in the form of a slight nod. "I must be off, I've got a date."

Turning on her heel, Harlequin passed the sniper, and whispered, "If he screws up, don't kill him. Leave that to me."

His mouth tightened into a firm line, but the sniper didn't protest.

She got into the taxi, told the driver the address, and leaned back against the seats. Her hand tingled. Lifting it up, she examined it, squinting. It was trembling.

A giggle escaped her lips.

_Look at me. I'm actually _trembling_. How foolish._

The excitement was bubbling inside of her, the pure predatory urge to kill. She wrestled it down.

_It's not time yet, no, just have to wait a bit longer…_

Harlequin took out her phone, forgetting about her hand, about the monster that rattled the bars of its cage inside of her, and sent two texts, one of John, and one to Lestrade, attaching an address to it.

_Come to this café. They serve nice food, you know.- Q_

Pretty soon, she had their replies:

_Sure. –GL_

_Will be there. -JW_

Smirking, the girl tucked her phone back into her pocket. The game was almost over, and she was sure she'd win.

~At the café~

Harlequin walked into the café, and spotted the two men almost instantly, sitting by the window, staring at each other.

"Hi," she said, dropping into the empty chair on one side of the table. "Did the results for the samples come in yet?"

"Not yet. We ordered our food already though," John informed. He looked like he was ready to run all the way to the lab, burst in, and _demand_ the soil samples to be ready. Lestrade, on the other hand, looked tired of all this shit.

They sat in silence for a bit. She didn't know how to act, what to say. All that was on her mind was the ending of her game, and how proud she'd make Jim. But she had to act natural, act normal. So she started a say something about the weather, but the waiter was already at their table, serving the other their meals, and Harlequin merely shut her mouth, looking at their food. John appeared to be eating macaroni and cheese while Lestrade had chosen lasagna.

Her stomach rumbled. She hadn't had breakfast, too worked up to digest anything and now she was paying the price.

"Can I have some?" she asked, directing it at whoever was listening.

John reluctantly handed over his fork, and she shoveled a forkful of macaroni into her mouth. Flavor exploded, leaving her taste buds tingling. The girl turned to the other man, and promptly stole some of his food.

"Hey!"

"_Damn_, this is good," she said, ignoring him. Harlequin handed the fork back to John. "Thanks. I really needed that."

"You're welcome." The army doctor gave her a strange look before continuing eating.

The detective inspector broke into a wan smile, which she returned.

_I'm going to kill you, Silver. Before I take care of Johnny boy here. And I'll do it in the most shocking way. I mean, not gruesome, merely unexpected. _

Already a plan was forming in the back of her mind, a little ball of idea that crackled with electricity.

A phone started to ring as they were mid-way through their meals, and Lestrade took out his phone, pressed answer. "Hello?"

A pause. "Yeah, okay, be there in a moment." He hung up, and looked at them. "The lab. The samples are ready."

Immediately, they abandoned their meals, and left the café in a hurry. Harlequin held that plan tightly as they got into Lestrade's car and sped off. She checked her phone for the time, and smirked.

She had a little special effect installed in Jonathan's house and couldn't wait to see his reaction to it.


	10. Chapter 9

~At Scotland Yard~

The trio rushed into the room, and woman strode up, a woman with frizzy black hair and brown skin. She held out the sample bag with the clump of soil inside, and a piece of paper attached it to. "That's the neighborhood we think the soil comes from," the woman said, and John hesitantly took the bag from her.

"Thanks, Donovan," he muttered, and she raised an eyebrow.

"You're welcome."

Donovan walked away, and Harlequin moved a little closer to John to see what the address written down was.

Jonathan's neighborhood.

_Yes_.

Glorious success washed over her, and a part of her whispered, "_It's almost time_."

"Now what?" she questioned.

"We go to the neighborhood, look around," the detective inspector supplied. "Come on. Let's go."

He left, John clutching the bag as though it held the secrets of the universe. She paused to take out her phone and sent a message to Sebastian.

_It's almost show-time. Get ready. –HM_

His reply was quick to arrive.

_I was born ready. –SM_

Chuckling to herself, she pocketed her phone and hurried out after the others.

~On the street Jonathan lived~

They climbed out of the car, a rag tag team made up of a man in a jumper, a silver-haired man and a girl who looked like she hadn't slept in days. They looked up and down the street for it bit: It was quiet, no one was around.

Suddenly, a voice rang out, "Aha, Johnny boy! I never thought I'd see you so soon. I'm impressed."

Jonathan Rider stood on the front porch of his house, dressed in the Westwood Harlequin had supplied, hands in his pocket, smiling. He was in his acting mode now, being supplied the dialogue from the ear piece that connected him directly to Sebastian.

John's mouth tightened into a firm line, and he stormed up the street, Lestrade and Harlequin close behind him. As they neared the house, she could see how the house had changed. Gone were the beanbags and wind chimes. Now the front porch was empty.

"I'm going to fucking kill you," the army doctor growled from behind clenched teeth.

"Now, now," Jonathan held up his hands in a placating gesture. "Let's not be too hasty. Come in, have some tea. We have to catch up."

The doctor stopped right in front of the steps of the porch, stared up at Jonathan with his arms folded. "Right. Okay, we'll have tea then."

"What?" Lestrade got out, blinking.

"I _said_, we'll be having tea with Jim."

"Good, I'm thirsty," Harlequin joked, then –when they glanced her way- looked guilty. "Okay, the timing for that was off."

Jonathan opened the front door, letting them in. When it came to her turn to step inside, she shot him a look that said _just go with it_. He gave her a tiny nod, then followed her inside, shutting the door firmly behind.

The inside of the house was simple yet stunning. Leather chairs, glass tables, four cups of steaming, freshly-brewed tea on the coffee table, even a chandelier. Nothing in that house betrayed the fact that a very different man and his beautiful family had lived here. It was worthy of Jim's style, actually, and she was proud of that.

The actor gestured to the sofa. "Please, make yourselves at home."

They took a seat, three of them on the same sofa, tense and anticipating a trap. Jonathan handed them each a cup of tea, took his own, then settled back into the armchair across from them. His lips curled, and the actor looked sinister, dark, everything she wanted him to look like. It was _perfection_, really.

"So, I assume you're furious. You must be thinking, _why oh why does this bastard get to live while my best friend is dead_. Truth is, it was because I was smarter than Sherlock." He sipped his tea, languidly, wetting his lips ever so slightly.

"Yes, that pretty much sums up what I've been thinking every day since that first murder," John replied, drinking some of his tea.

The two of them –apparently left out of the conversation- merely held their cups and stared, open-mouthed.

"Do you want to know why I called you here, John?"

"I'm quite curious about that."

Harlequin raised her cup to her lips and gulped down the liquid in the most unladylike fashion, then realized that something was holding her arm in an almost vice-like grip. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that it was the detective inspector, but the plan in her mind called to her, so she just let him grip her. He seemed so engrossed in this little drama unfolding in front of them.

"I can't just let you sit there and sink into misery over his death."

"I think I'm taking it as it comes."

"So I decided to _free_ you," Jonathan continued, as though the doctor hadn't interrupted. "I gave you places to go, murder to see. You should be grateful."

"Grateful to the fucker who killed Sherlock?" John spat.

"After all I did for you!" The actor looked slightly miffed. "Ungrateful sod."

The room went quiet for a couple of minutes while everyone drank their tea, waiting for the next move to be made. Jonathan stood, suddenly, placing his now-empty tea cup back onto the coffee table.

"And who exactly are you?" His gaze turned to her, eyes narrowed.

_Damn this bloke's good_.

Harlequin let her eyes widen, let a little fear and uncertainty creep into her voice. "Me…?" she asked, pointing to herself.

"Obviously."

"I… Why would I want to tell a monster like you?!" she demanded.

His voice became low and dangerous. "I know everyone in this room except for you. And it would be rather _rude_ if an uninvited guest came in. So tell me your name."

"Ah… Quin. I'm Quin."

"And why are you in the company of these two?"

"I… was curious. I'd seen the consulting detective in the papers and on the net, but John was much more…. Intriguing."

She set down her cup, then glanced at Lestrade, at his hand, meaningfully.

"Sorry," he mumbled, hastily, withdrawing it. "I, uh, tend to do it during these kind of situations…"

"Happy?" she questioned, staring straight at Jonathan.

"I could ask you the same thing."

"Yes."

"Our answers are the same. Excellent." He smiled. "Now, back to our original topic. Johnny boy, you're so _loyal_. It's pathetic, yes, but we'd make a fine team, you and I."

It took a few minutes for the message to fully sink in. Realizing what Jonathan was asking of him, John slammed his cup down on the table, and snapped, "No. Not until hell fucking freezes over."

"Detective Inspector Lestrade?"

"No."

A slight desperate tone to his voice as he extended his hand to her. "Quin? I see potential in you. You and I can change the world."

"No," she said, shaking her head. "You're a bloody _monster_. You killed all those people just to grab our attention. You could've done it in a million ways but you chose the most bloodthirsty one. I'm not going to become like you."

A sigh escaped his lips as the actor stood up, unfolding his body. "Since you won't take my offer…" A small frown flickered over his face, then disappeared. "Then it seems I'll have to leave you here."

They stared, puzzled.

"As in…" Jonathan began walking towards the door. Harlequin knew what was going to happen, this little surprise that she and Sebastian hadn't told him about. He strode out of the house, quickly, before they had time to react, and the moment the door shut behind him, they were on their feet.

"What the _fuck_ was that?!" John yelled, racing towards the door.

"I don't-" Lestrade's retort was cut off as time slowed, the house exploded, and Harlequin was thrown violently off her feet.


	11. Chapter 10

_Where… am I…?_

She was on her back and could see the sky. Flames flickered around her.

Obsidian eyes peered intently at her.

"Daddy…?" she called, using a name she hadn't bothered to address him by since she was four. He didn't like it when _she_ called him by it.

"Let me give you a clearer picture on your condition," Jim said, crouching down beside her. "Currently, you're bleeding from a gash on your forehead. Your shirt has been ripped, but not too badly. There's blood soaking the fabric from the cuts you've sustained. The glass table exploded, and the glass found you. Also, you look like you've been through hell and back."

She struggled to prop herself up on her elbows, wincing as pain shot through her aching body. A hand went to her forehead, and she saw her fingers were slick with blood.

"It's red," she giggled, disorientated and slightly confused. "It's so lovely. It's so… _Bloody_…"

Jim sighed. "Quin, you have a _job_ to finish. Do it."

That snapped her back to reality, or what was left of it, anyways. "Yes, sir." Her head was pounding. Her plans came rushing back to her, smacking her in the face. Distantly, she could hear sirens.

_Wonder if Jonathan made it far enough to not be caught in the blast…_

"You could've died." His tone was neutral.

"Was a risk… I took it…"

Smiling, he got to his feet and sort of faded away. Harlequin found the strength to stumble to her feet and look at the destruction she'd caused. The house was barely standing. Some parts of the floor were on fire, soot and debris scattered everywhere. And crimson stains marked the ground.

Warm liquid was pouring down the side of her face, she could feel her clothes dampen with it each passing moment, and she barely could move.

And instead of laughing triumphantly like the psychopath she was, Harlequin did something that stunned her. She started crying. She didn't know _why_ she was. Sure she hurt on the outside, but she'd had worst injuries. She felt fine too, emotionally. So why the fuck was she blubbering?

_Stop it, stop it, Jim won't like it. It hurts, but it's bearable. It's fine. Please, just _stop_,_ she begged herself, but the tears just kept on coming until the world became a mere blur, blocked by her tears.

She was starting to hate herself for showing weakness.

The sirens got louder, until they stopped altogether, and people were coming into the house, people with hoses, people with badges, she couldn't tell who was who. Someone took her by the arm, murmuring soothing things into her ear, things that didn't fully connect in her mind, and led her outside to an ambulance, sitting her on perch at the back of the vehicle.

"We're going to the hospital, love," that someone informed her, and she shook her head.

"No, no hospital, please."

"We have to. You're bleeding badly."

That someone draped a blanket around her shoulder, and dabbed her face with a damp cloth. Angrily, the girl rubbed her eyes, stifled her sobs, and sat there, stony faced. As soon as she was alone, she'd have to call Sebastian to give him further instructions. Her vision cleared enough for her to see who that someone tending to her was: A kind-faced paramedic, female, dark brown eyes and auburn hair. The cloth she was using to clean Harlequin's face was practically _dripping_ with blood.

"Did… Did they find anyone else in the house?" she asked.

"I don't know," the paramedic simply said, setting the bloody cloth aside and picking up a roll of bandage. Her thoughts raced as the woman began to temporarily bandage her wounds until they got to the hospital. If John or Lestrade was dead, she'd have wasted her efforts to think of a grand finale.

"But Silver and John… They were with me…"

"I'm sure they're alright, love." She finished bandaging, and nodded, approvingly. "There. Now just hang tight, and we'll be off in a while."

The paramedic squeezed Harlequin's shoulder, reassuringly, and hurried off in the opposite direction. She looked around, still a little dazed from the whole crying thing. Her eyes drifted over the police personal standing around, to the firefighters who had successfully extinguished the flames, then stopped at the two figures approaching her. They both had blankets identical to hers, both looking world-weary and ready to collapse. They were also bandaged: John over his stomach and limping, Lestrade supporting him, his shoulders and arms bandaged.

She stood up, letting the blanket fall from around her shoulders, and they managed to smile weakly at her. She couldn't help it, she just wanted some warmth, it was so cold all of a sudden. So Harlequin flung herself at them, one arm around the army doctor, the other around the detective inspector. John grunted, Lestrade steadied him, and she absorbed as much warmth as she could from them.

Composing herself, she took a deep breath and a step back.

"Sorry. My emotions got the better of me," she apologized, looking embarrassed.

"No problem," John told her, shrugging.

The auburn-haired paramedic that had tended to Harlequin came up to them, a smile on her face.

"There, see everyone's alright. Sort of. Now, all of you, get into the ambulance," she said, suddenly all cheery and such. They obeyed her, naturally, clambering into the back of the ambulance. She shut the doors, and a few moments later, the vehicle began moving.

The three of them sat on the seats inside in silence, the girl between the two men, each silently contemplating what would be next to come. Harlequin didn't risk texting Sebastian in this kind of place, where they would be bound to notice. The sniper would just have to wait for her. Leaning back, she brought her legs up to her chest and hugged them to her, and marveled at how emotional she'd become ever since starting this _game_. It scared her a little.

"We're going to be okay, right?" she voiced. "We're going to find that Moriarty bastard and kick his ass. As soon as we get out of the hospital."

"No, we'll take tonight off," Lestrade said, stretching, then wincing.

"Hear, hear," John muttered, looking down at his shoes.

The ambulance went over a pothole, and she was thrown forward, but they caught her arms and she breathed out, relieved she wouldn't have to pick herself off the floor and risk blood spurting out from her wound.

They stopped at the stoplights, and she decided that she'd take care of herself. So she got up, and walked to the door of the ambulance.

"Where are you going?"

"Home, John. Don't tell them though, okay? Just act like I was never here in the first place." She winked at him, a finger pressed to her lips. Then she opened the doors as silently as possible, smiling at their looks of shock and admiration.

"I'll see you tomorrow, boys," Harlequin called over her shoulder as she hopped out of the ambulance, shut the doors, and strode away. The lights turned green, and the vehicle began to move, so there was no chance of them hopping out after her. Getting up onto the sidewalk, she took out her phone, sent Sebastian a text.

_Be home in a bit_. _I'm a bit banged up, but that's what a First-Aid kit is for. –HM_

_Sure thing, Boss. –SM _

She let out a laugh she hadn't know she was suppressing. It hurt her sides, but it felt good. Whistling tunelessly, she headed home, enjoying the crisp night air and the quiet atmosphere.


	12. Chapter 11

~Back at Harlequin's flat~

She let herself into the flat to see the entire Rider family sitting in her living room, guarded by Sebastian Moran, who was standing with his back to the window, gun in his hand. Cameron was cuddling Rose and China, who were looking traumatized, and Jonathan sat on the ground, sweating and exhausted, Westwood only slightly dirty.

"You didn't tell me you were going to blow up my house until the last minute," the actor accused when she walked in, glaring at her. "I could have been _killed_."

"But you weren't, so be happy," Harlequin retorted. She looked at the sniper. "Seb, do you think you can stitch up the big-ass cut on my forehead?"

He nodded, went off to fetch the First-Aid kit from the bathroom, leaving her with the fearful family.

"When this is over, you will be rewarded accordingly for your services," she told Jonathan. "But there is one last job that I have in store for you."

"No." He seemed very adamant about this decision, but less so when she took out her gun and pointed it at his wife. Rose burst into tears, then her twin did, and Cameron did her best to comfort them, tears starting to glisten in her eyes. Harlequin made a face.

"Oh, _do_ stop crying. It's noisy, and distracting, in case you don't know."

"Don't shoot," Jonathan pleaded. "She's done nothing wrong."

"Are you going to do what I want?"

"Yes, yes, please, just don't pull the trigger."

"Good." She slipped the gun into her pocket just as Sebastian came back with the First-Aid kit. Sitting down in the nearest armchair, she allowed him to peel back the bloody bandage on her forehead and examine the cut.

"It's deep, but I guess I can fix it," the sniper announced, taking out a needle and black thread from the box. She fixed Jonathan with a murderous glare over Sebastian's shoulder. The actor stood up, put an arm around his wife, talking fast and quietly to her.

Probably telling her that if anything happened, she should run and never look back. Harlequin waited patiently for the sniper to finish stitching her up, wincing each time the cold needle connected with her flesh, then pushed him aside, getting up.

"Jonathan?" she called, using her gentlest tone. "I just need you to act like Moriarty one last time, okay? Then you and your family will be free to leave."

"Leave to _where_? You blew up our house!" Cameron screamed, and the children whimpered.

"You will be compensated, undoubtedly. I have some people who owe me a few favors."

"Fuck you!"

Tears ran down her face, and her husband tried to shush her, but the damage was done. Harlequin had her gun pointed at the woman in ten seconds flat, a dangerous fire blazing in her eyes.

"Say that again, you bitch, and you can kiss your fucking family goodbye," she snarled, hand steady on the gun.

Her phone beeped. She ignored it.

"Calm down, Quin," Sebastian tried to soothe her, one hand on her shoulder. "She's scared. She doesn't know what she's saying. Let it go."

She drew a deep breath, counted backwards from ten, shut her eyes, and sought out the source of her emotion. There is was, a silver tap that sat there in the middle of the darkness. She turned the tap in her mind, watched colors come out of it and get sucked into the drain of the sink. All the rage went out of her. All the hate, all the fury, replaced by neutrality.

Harlequin opened her eyes, and let her hand drop to her side, hanging there limply.

She addressed Jonathan, choosing to ignore the crying twins and the hysterical wife. "I'm going to call those two gentlemen that were with me. I'm going to say that you're after me, simply because I have no place in your game."

"Go on," he said.

"And then we're going to run: You'll be chasing after me. Then, when they arrive, you see John and taunt him, asking him to come and get him if he has the balls."

"Where am I going to chase you?"

"A random course around London. Not far, really. Just keep your distance from him, try not to get caught, use any means of getting away. I'll catch up with you as soon as I can. Got it?"

Jonathan nodded. She smiled, remembered that her phone had beeped, and took it out to read the text.

_Just out of the hospital with Lestrade. Where are you? –JW _

"Okay, boys and girls," she said, grabbing everyone's attention. "It's time to get this show on the road. Jonathan, you're coming with me. Cameron, if you say one fucking words about this to the cops, I'll find you and kill you. You too, kiddies."

Rose and China's eyes widened, and she continued, "Don't worry. You'll just need to sit here, hang tight and wait for daddy to come home. No sweat."

She turned around and looked Sebastian in the eye, sending him an unspoken message which he signaled he understood by raising an eyebrow. Motioning to Jonathan, Harlequin walked out, going down the stairs and onto the street.

_He's after me. Moriarty. He says I don't have a place in his chess game, so he needs to exterminate me. I'm sending you the address. Please, hurry. I don't know how long I can evade him. –Q _

Jonathan came up beside her. "Thank you. For not shooting Cameron or my children."

She was stunned for few seconds. "No problem." A pause. "On the count of three, start running. One… Two… Three!"

Harlequin sprinted off, but he stayed behind so that there was some distance to cover between them. She was pretty far up ahead when she heard his feet pounding the ground, and sped up.

The sun was setting, its rays falling on her. She felt the adrenaline flood her veins, and wanted to laugh. But she couldn't give the game away. So she let herself start panting, beads of sweat forming on her forehead, contorting her face into a mask of fear and exhaustion. She raced down the street, the actor some way behind her, cutting through and alley, leaping over crates. She didn't notice the chain-link fence until she slammed into it. Quickly, the girl started scaling it, jumped down to the other side, and continued running.

She was far from the flat now, hiding beside a dumpster, while the actor made a show of walking slowly down the alley. "Come now, Quin. The faster I kill you, the faster the pain will go away," he said.

She kept silent, huddled there.

Suddenly, a voice rang out, "Stop right there or I'll fucking blow your brains out!"

Two silhouettes at the other end of the alley, both holding guns, both bandaged, one putting his weight on an uninjured leg. She got up and ran to them, but a shot rang out, the bullet whizzing past her ear.

_So Sebastian must've given him a gun as a convincing prop._

She froze. "It's me you want, right? So why do you need to kill Quin?" John asked.

The actor chuckled. "She's nobody. A new player in this game of chess, without a rank, without a purpose. Even pawns have their purpose. The two of us have been on the board since the start, John, even DI Lestrade here. But this girl has recently joined. And I don't need a spare piece." His fingers tightened around the trigger, and she barely reached the two men before the second shot was fired. A rush of air, the bullet went past her.

_Damn, his aim's bad._

"Well…" Jonathan pouted, twirling the gun around. "I guess if you want to kill me… You've got to catch me first!" Giggling maniacally, the actor turned on his heels and ran, leaving the three of them in the alley.

"I'm going after him," John growled, giving the chase. "Greg, Quin, _don't try to interfere!_"

"John, no, wait!" Lestrade yelled, but the army doctor was already vanishing from view. "Shit. Come on, we have to go-"

Harlequin remembered the little idea she had, and her hand shot out, grabbing his sleeve. "Wait, Silver. This might be the last quiet moment we have before we die."

"But John needs backup."

"He said to not interfere. Besides, this is _his_ thing. Moriarty killed _his_ best friend, not _yours._"

"Sherlock was… he was a good friend of mine too…"

She smiled a little, then commented, "You are such a handsome devil, has anyone told you that?"

"Thanks, but we really have to go and help John." Lestrade set off, and he was halfway down the alley when she caught up, grabbing his sleeve.

"Stop it-" His protest was cut off as she grabbed a fistful of his shirt and yanked it so that his face was inches from her, and Harlequin kissed him. His eyes were quizzical, looking directly into hers, and then they widened because she'd just sunk her knife into his stomach.

Pulling away, Harlequin finally allowed the long suppressed smile to surface, enjoying the look of utter shock and amazement on the detective inspector's face as he sagged, and she lowered him as his legs gave way, propping him up against the wall. She admired her handiwork, really. The hilt of the knife jutted out of his stomach, his white shirt already stained with crimson still rapidly spreading.

"What… Why…?" he questioned, struggling to form the words.

"Do you want the truth, Silver?" she asked, and he nodded, then winced, so she told him. "My real name is Harlequin. Quin is just a nickname. And my full name is, in fact, Harlequin Moriarty."

"You're his…. daughter… You're behind… the murders…"

"Yep. And since Jim killed Sherlock, I've decided to finish off John. And then I decided to take _you_ out too."

"You… I… You're a monster," Lestrade got out.

"Thanks for the compliment," Harlequin replied, bowing. "Hey, try not to move too much, maybe you'll still be alive when they carry out John's mangled body."

"So who was… that man…?"

"An actor I hired. Threatened. Whatever."

"Huh." He laughed, then cringed as the pain hit. She smiled, then slammed her sneaker into his face, causing him to jerk, smash his head back against the wall. The man spat out a tooth and a mouthful of blood, tried to get up but failed, then looked up at her.

Harlequin walked away, then stopped when he called, "Did… you mean it? What you called… me?"

"Yes. You're handsome, but you're just on the wrong side of things, honey. Provided you survive- which I hope you won't- come to me if you get tired of the law. I'm always looking for new clients," she informed, without turning around. She resumed walking, quickening her pace so she'd catch up with John and Jonathan.

_One down, two to go. _


	13. Chapter 12

_How it all began,_

_If truth be told, _

_Had a master plan,_

_Now I rule the world, _

_Took 'em by surprise,_

_Worked my way uphill,_

_They looked into my eyes_

_~Don't Mess With Me, Temposhark~_

She exited the alley, looked around, and frowned. Where the hell those two bastards had disappeared to was a mystery to her. The street was mostly empty, with the sun having set and night fallen. Moving fast, Harlequin hurried down the street, passed a few alleys, then paused, straining her ears for any sound. She didn't need to: The gunshot that echoed led the way to another different alley, where the two men stood, a few paces away from each other. Both were pointing guns at each other too.

Harlequin didn't know _who_ fired the shot, but why did it matter? She was in charge around here now. She made her grand entrance, walking slowly up to John, who was nearest to her.

"I thought this game was good. It's nice to play with someone different once in a while," she drawled, running a finger down his spine before brushing past him to approach Jonathan. "You three make such wonderful pawns."

"What?" The army doctor looked puzzled. "Quin, where's Greg? What the hell are you talking about?"

"You mean Silver? Well, he's currently out of action, I'm afraid. Might even be permanent unless he has the will to hang on…"

It dawned on him then that she had never been on their side at all. In fact, she'd been the one to organize everything, and played along. And she saw that in his eyes. Saw him realize that he'd been tricked by a teenager, saw him realize that she was a _monster_ in disguise.

"Harlequin Moriarty, that's the name. Don't forget." She patted Jonathan's arm. "And this is Jonathan Rider. He's an actor."

The brown-haired man handed her the gun. "Can I leave now? Can I see my family?" he questioned, urgently.

"No. You're not leaving until the curtains fall," Harlequin informed him, taking the gun from him and pointing it at John.

The man seemed stunned. "_Moriarty_?"

She laughed. "That was what Silver said. What, didn't think anyone would love Jim, would agree to have his child? And along came my mother, the dumb bitch."

"You're _insane_."

"It runs in the family, honey." She waved a hand. "My mother. Jim. Me. We all have it in us. But unlike everyone else, we didn't shun it. We let it become one with us."

Jonathan stood beside her, frozen. John still had the gun in his hand, but now it was aimed directly at her.

"My _God, _Johnny boy, can't you see what I'm offering to do? I'm offering to kill you so you can see your precious Sherlock again."

"As much as I want to see him again, I don't want to die so soon," he replied, glaring at her.

"You better hurry. I wonder how much time it'll take for Silver to run out of blood."

"Walk away and I won't kill you." His tone took on a desperate edge, and she knew that he was beginning to panic.

"I'm not afraid of dying, no. Staying alive, as Jim liked to say, is sometimes so _boring_."

His eyes widened, and a smirk spread across his face. He lowered the gun. "You're just like your father. Your philosophies, your way at looking at things. Everything about you simply _screams_ Jim Moriarty. He fashioned you in his own image. The only difference is that you like to get your hands dirty."

"That's not true," she said, confused. What was he playing at?

"It is. You exist for one reason and one reason alone. So he could have someone to continue being the consulting criminal, long after he was dead."

"I've known that since I was four."

"Don't you want to be someone else? You're not his puppet. You can choose to walk away from all the madness, maybe even put the gun down and talk things out."

"Psychology isn't going to work on my, you arse," she sighed, getting tired of his shit. She'd listened to this claptrap a million times before, for a million different, desperate people _begging_ to be spared.

John shook his head, sadly. "He never loved you. He never cared about you. You were nothing but a _tool_ to him."

"He did love me." Harlequin began to get angry. "He did, and I don't give a fuck about anything but finishing my game, so you might as well say your prayers because I'm going to shoot you."

"No, you're not."

She tried to pull the trigger. Only she did. But her entire body seemed to go numb, and she could barely move, no matter how much she willed and forced herself. It was as though something was preventing her from harming John.

"Yes I am, you shit."

_As soon as I can fucking _move_._

Suddenly, she could move. She brought the gun to be level with his face and her fingers tightened around the trigger. Realizing that his plan wasn't working, John fired the same time she did.

For a few moments, she wondered what the hell was wrong with her. It should've been a clean shot, but _no_, fate had to screw it up. The army doctor lay sprawled on the ground, blood pumping from the bullet hole on his shoulder. He seemed to be in a daze, the gun still in his hand. Then Harlequin focused a little more, and found herself sitting on the ground, bleeding from the bullet wound on _her_ shoulder. It didn't hurt as much as it was supposed it, and she was grateful for that.

_An eye for an eye I suppose_.

Grunting, she got to her feet and looked at Jonathan, who was standing a few steps away, staring at the whole scene.

"Come on, pick him up," she ordered, motioning to John, and the actor did as she commanded, hoisting up the army doctor and following her as she went back to the alley where she'd stabbed Lestrade. The poor sod was still there, where she'd left him. When he saw them coming, his eyes widened in alarm, but the girl merely told Jonathan to set John down beside the detective inspector.

"I'm going to leave you two alone for now," she told him, crouching down so that they were eye-to-eye. "But I'll be there. Watching. Waiting. For what? Something big, naturally. And do _not_ try to find me. Because it's impossible."

Lestrade attempted to speak, but failed, so she gave him a quick pat on the head. "When he wakes up, tell him I said goodbye." Harlequin straightened, and smiled at Jonathan, who had just finished calling for an ambulance and was putting his phone away.

"You have seemed to outlive your usefulness. I'll make sure your widow and orphans are well compensated."

"_What_?" he asked, looked alarmed, backing away. She shot him, and he was dead before he even hit the ground. "Bye, Silver," she called over her shoulder as she walked away, taking out her phone.

_I'm coming back. I let them live. Jonathan's dead, though. Let Cameron and the twins go, make sure they're paid accordingly. I've been shot, so be prepared to play nurse again. –HM_

_Affirmative, Boss. –SM_

"Why did you let them live?" He came out of the shadow with little more than the rustle of fabric.

"It might make you made, but I did it because… Well…" She shrugged. "I thought it would be more painful for them to be alive, suffer countless more wounds, both physical and emotional."

"Aha." Jim smiled, showing a row of sharp teeth. "That's ruthless _and _clever. You're truly worthy of your surname."

"I know."

_I wonder if Sebastian will mind if we go out on a murder-spree tonight._

She laughed, looping her arm through his, and walked off into the darkness, not looking back.


	14. This is My Note

Hello ^^ *waves*

It's me again :D

First of all, I'd like to thank every single one of you for your views, your reviews, especially MrsRavel, who was damn supportive, and Ashley AKA ppyongkimon , who supplied some wonderful ideas in desperate times and also put up with all my Lestrade and Moriarty spam that clogs up her inbox.

Secondly, I'd like to ask a favor *clears throat*

If there are any Chanyeol fans or Exo fans out there, please check out ppyongkimon's work on Asian Fan Fic. It's called 'Fist Fights and Shotguns' ^^

Much appreciated.

And now, I'd like to apologize for a number of things, which include making Harlequin have crazy mood swings, not elaborating too much, making John and Lestrade and everyone else OOC, hurting them (though I enjoyed hurting them), making Jim a little weird, and for using the same words a lot. Also for mentioning too little of Sherlock, and not adding in Mrs. Hudson or anyone.

*coughs* I'm also sorry for not continuing Dark Passion. I just don't know _how_ to.

And yes, thank you for putting up with me ^^

I love you people ^^

Meh ^^

It might be a long time before I write another fanfic, so I'll see you then I suppose :3

Bye ^^

*vanishes*


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